Autumn Leaves
by The Lurking Writer
Summary: After Ron's death, Harry and Hermione are unequipped to deal with the grief and pain. Harry's distance from R&Hr may have been through good intent, but even the best of intentions can often turn out to be the worst of decisions...


**Title:** Autumn Leaves

**Author:** The Lurking Writer

**Rating:** PG-13 (I _think_... /unsure/ If anyone thinks I need to change it, let me know in a review)

**Summary:** (Follows books one to five, ignoring book six completely and utterly).

After Ron's death at the end of their sixth year at Hogwarts, Harry and Hermione are unequipped to deal with the grief and pain. Harry's distance from Ron and Hermione may have been through good intent, but even the best of intentions can often turn out to be the worst of decisions…

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter and all related characters, names, etc. are property of J.K. Rowling, all publishers concerned and Warner Brothers. The only things owned by the author are the plot and any names not featured in the official Harry Potter books or movies. No money is being made from this, and no copyright infringement is intended.

**Word Count:** 2200 (approx.)

**Dedication:** Dedicated with endless love to a woman I miss with every fibre of my being.

**Author's Notes:** This story was written more than a year ago - I found it again sometime in March and uploaded it to Portkey. It's taken me this long to remember my password for here, so please forgive me. Whether or not this story / ficlet is finished I do not know, nor will it be soon before I find out for myself. In the meantime, for all the - what were we called? Ah, yes - _delusional_ people who believed in Harry and Hermione... I hope you enjoy this. And I apologise for any mistakes (grammar, canon knowledge, formatting, etc)... I don't exactly remember going over this with my usual fine-tooth comb, even if I have spent the last twenty minutes making slight alterations here and there to the Portkey version and thinking what to write for this AN.

Oh, and inspiration has recently struck... the lurking writer is still lurking, but he's also beginning to write once more... /ominous music begins to play/

* * *

—

**S**chool had already been in session for a whole month and warm September turned into cool October. Leaves changed from vibrant greens to burning ambers and the Whomping Willow became more sallow, as if preparing itself for the long winter ahead.

Through the winding corridors (some which had different entrances on Tuesdays) and past shut doors that often led to strange places if you'd not had a shower that morning, an eighteen-year old girl walked briskly. Clutched tightly to her chest was a rather large and dusty leather-bound book and, in her free hand, an eagle-feathered quill.

Her mind was elsewhere, as it so often was these days. If you could see her face you'd know that she'd gone through a particularly torturous time… and you'd be right, of course. For Hermione Granger had indeed suffered terrible trauma mere months earlier.

Before her mind could find the words to describe the images she saw in her every waking moment, her feet had brought her to a dark ebony door. She tried to compose herself before entering, tucking an errant strand of bushy-brown hair behind her right ear.

Tentatively, being careful not to drop her book, she twisted the handle and pushed the door inwards. The sight that greeted her was of a gloomily lit classroom with perhaps half a dozen rows of wooden desks, upon which each held a pewter cauldron.

Behind the stone podium at the forefront of the class was another door—one Hermione knew all too well. It was the gateway to a realm both she and Harry would never forget—Snape's office. She breathed a sigh of relief when she realised it was shut, and there was no sign of the greasy-haired professor; she was early for the lesson.

Her reprieve from human contact ended as the faintest glimmerings of raised voices reached her ears. She recognised two of them instantly as that of Draco Malfoy and her best friend, Harry Potter. Once more she sighed, and found herself a desk midway between both doors. She busied herself with unloading her canvas satchel of all the necessary ingredients she'd need. Thus, her eyes down turned as they were, she did not see the other eleven students enter the classroom.

"Hey, Hermione," whispered a warm and familiar voice. "Haven't seen you since breakfast. How was Arithmancy?"

"Hi, Harry," she whispered in return, "Arithmancy was wonderful, like it always is." She responded perhaps a little more sarcastically than she'd intended.

"Are you sure you're okay, Hermione? I'm worried about you…"

There it was… that tiny quiver in his voice that only she seemed able to hear. He was worried about her because she was known as being close to Harry; she'd _be next._' It was never anything more than that. Try as she might, she could never remember if Harry had ever shown anything but friendship towards her. In fact, he'd even seemed more distant than before, last year. It was as if he'd been making a conscious decision to back off… but why would he have done that? What could have—?

The gentle swishing of a cloak over the cool flagstones interrupted her thoughts. Never had she been more thankful for Snape's appearance than just then.

"Hello, class. I pray that you have all brought with you the correct ingredients for today's lesson. If anyone does not have them, then you will be required to purchase some from my private stores. Mr. Potter, if you were leaning any closer to Miss Granger anyone would think you were conjoined twins. Ten points from Gryffindor."

Harry's eyes flashed hotly and she could see his fists clenched tightly beneath the desk, but he clamped his teeth together. What good would angering Snape do anymore?

Malfoy's sniggering was cut short by a mere glance from Snape.

Snape droned on for a further ten minutes, making absolutely certain to repeat his instructions not at all; it wasn't like Snape to dote on his students, even those that he despised less than others.

Despite still being at the top of her year, Hermione realised she'd been slowly slipping away from her high standards. She'd been distracted by pain, depression, and hopelessness. What was the point anymore, now that the Trio was down to two?

She shook her head, trying to focus on the task at hand. This potion would be one of those they'd be tested on for their NEWT's. It was so _difficult_, though… with Harry unknowingly reminding her of all that had brought her to this point.

A gust of wind rattled windows high above with such sudden violence and strength that its sound reached the dungeon. Damp and chill, it prowled around the castle, almost as if it were trying to get in at her, howling in her heart, turning the restlessness that had haunted her all year to near reckless abandon, pushing her to the brink of… _what_? She forced herself to admit that she knew exactly what.

Hermione sighed, closing her eyes and screwing up her courage to get this finally over with. She couldn't wait until they were back in the Common Room to say what she needed to. It was now or never, Snape be damned.

"Harry… why were you so distant last year?" Hermione asked out of the corner of her mouth, whilst mixing in the dragons' scales to their cauldron. "Why didn't you spend time with R-Ron and I?"

He hesitated for a few seconds, as if trying to come to terms with it himself. "The Prophecy, Hermione… I… I didn't want you to be labelled as targets, because you were known as my best friends. I knew you'd manage… knew you'd be happy together, without me around."

"What!" She whispered fiercely, "How… why… you jeopardised our friendship because you thought we'd be safe! Better off together than with you? Whatever possessed you to _do_ such a thing?"

"Hermione, I thought you and Ron were… you know… going out together. I didn't want to intrude… I didn't want to split you two up. I thought you were in love with each other…"

Five words… five little words and they had just done more damage to her than the Polyjuice Potion, Basilisk, Whomping Willow, and Antonin Dolohov combined.

The abrupt screech of her stool against the flagstones caught everyone's attentions, including Snape's, but Hermione had eyes, albeit angered ones, only for Harry.

Words refused to come to her, so she made do with staring forcefully at her best friend, allowing time to gather her wildly spinning thoughts.

Hermione held a rapt audience of the whole classroom, as she took her things and backed away from Harry.

"Miss Granger, if you do not return to your seat immediately, I will be forced to take… action." Snape was glowering, now. Hermione could positively feel the anger and hatred flooding through the Potion Master's voice.

"Harry… I didn't… I couldn't… I would never… how could you of all people think that?" She was crying freely now. It didn't matter. Snape could rot in hell for all she cared - him and his silly pureblood-prejudices - and Harry… As Dumbledore had once told her, she wasn't just a muggle-born—she was the brightest, most talented witch Hogwarts had ever known, much less taught. She should have expected that not everyone could think as quickly as her.

"Ron was my… he was _our friend_… nothing more!" No more tears could come, yet still she was racked with sobs. Her breathing sounded shattered. "I have to leave…" she whispered, "I need to get out of here." As Harry reached out to her, to place his hand on her arm, in a purely intuitive move to comfort her, she almost screamed and backed away. "Just leave me alone!"

She left the classroom at a speed not seen elsewhere but on a Quidditch pitch.

—

Harry didn't even think about what to do—he instinctively shot after her, as if his life (and hers) depended upon it.

"HERMIONE!"

Snape, despite being livid at this… _display_… in his lesson, was silently impressed at how long the jars on the shelf nearest the door kept rattling afterwards.

—

How could Harry ask such a thing? How _could_ he think that she liked anyone but _him_ in that way?

She didn't know where her feet were taking her, nor did she care as stone flooring gradually gave way to blades of grass and small thickets of bracken.

"HERMIONE!"

She didn't turn to face him—she knew he'd be right behind her in seconds.

"Harry… how could you think that I was in love with Ron? I… you… this is so hard for me… I—"

She wasn't able to continue. Harry had taken her shoulders beneath his hands, turned her to face him and then placed one finger lightly against her lips, the very feel of his touch sending her into shock.

"Hermione… I'm sorry… I'm sorry for a lot of things… sorry for Trelawney making that stupid prophecy… sorry for Voldemort choosing me… sorry for Cedric, and… and Sirius… and…" his voice trailed off to nothingness. "And I'm sorry for being a stupid prat for the past seven years. I care about you so much, Hermione… I never wanted anything to happen to you… ever…"

All she could do was nod in numb comprehension.

"I've spent the past seven years being your friend when I should've spent them being something… more…"

Though he was now looking away, she could tell his emeralds were glinting brightly, teardrops welling in the corner of his eyes forming a brilliant sheen. She knew her own eyes had watered up, for the world was a blurry mess of light and shade and Harry.

Her heart leapt into her throat, making it impossible to respond, impossible to scream out what she'd wanted to for so long…

"Hermione… I…"

It was her turn to quiet him.

A thousand thoughts swam through her mind but only one mattered, as she pressed her lips to his. _This is really happening… it's not a dream anymore…_' He seemed quite shocked by this turn of events, as if he hadn't expected something like this to happen… until he responded to her touch.

It no longer mattered that she'd been the one to initiate the kiss… it no longer mattered that it had taken them both seven years to get to this bittersweet moment… the world only held Harry, and he was holding her.

Slowly they broke apart, though Hermione's arms had crept around Harry's neck, and his arms were all that kept her from falling to the floor in a crumpled heap.

Their noses brushed, and she giggled as the sensation tickled her. His lips curled into that half-grin which had always sent shivers through her whole body. She parted her lips into an "oh" as Harry pulled her closer to him, his fingers tracing maddening patterns at the small of her back. She doubted he realised what he was doing… his eyes had lost their sheen and had grown smoky, as if a fire had been lit behind them.

Growing inside her had been a feeling of need… a hunger that had yet to be satisfied… She brought her hands up into his hair—_how many times had she longed to do that?_' —and gently drew his head closer to her own. She rose on tiptoes, not because she had to, but because she wanted to.

Hermione caught the corner of his mouth between her lips and gently ran her tongue across his. She could feel him shudder with pleasure against her, feel his warm body against her own. As he opened his mouth in response, she darted inside and began nibbling on his bottom lip. She'd never felt this way before… never felt such… desire… and to think that had she not ran from a lesson she wouldn't be experiencing this… experiencing _him_…

_'That was different_,' she tried to think, as his tongue traced the tips of her teeth. She was drowning in his touch… drowning in utter joy that they'd finally acted upon their feelings…

Tentatively, and oh-so-slowly, she ventured inside, to savour the honey-sweetness that lay within. He tasted like nothing else she'd ever known… like cinnamon and chocolate, pumpkin pie and the faintest hint of butterbeer, Quidditch and magic, all rolled into one amazing aroma… she was breathing him in… inhaling him as if he were the very air itself…

And suddenly it wasn't just about her kissing him… _loving him_… the moment Harry began to respond—to feel the licking flames rising in his own heart—was the very instant the world around them shattered and time stood on its head.

In his embrace, her heart unfolded like a tender leaf drinking in sunlight; a fruit ripening, turning golden as he touched her, loved her… until their passion, their love, their deep and mutual understanding set it ablaze… so that the fires of Autumn were contained in her heart and in her eyes forever.

—

* * *


End file.
